'Frankenstein' Review: Guillermo del Toro delivers the gorgeous, tragic, and suitable Gothic adaptation
- Dan Bremner
- 5 hours ago
- 4 min read
By Dan Bremner - October 2025
Few filmmakers feel as destined to adapt Frankenstein as Guillermo del Toro. The story’s heart, a fragile, doomed dance between beauty and monstrosity, has pulsed through every one of his films in some way, from Pan’s Labyrinth to The Shape of Water to even Hellboy. After decades of false starts, creative battles, and teases, del Toro’s Frankenstein has finally arrived, and it’s nothing short of spellbinding. Equal parts tragic romance, gothic horror, and grand-scale morality play, this is the director’s most emotionally sincere and visually spectacular work since The Shape of Water, an operatic, deeply human fable about the agony of creation and the loneliness of being unloved.
It’s impossible to discuss Frankenstein without addressing its cinematic lineage. The 1931 Universal Monsters version remains a landmark, iconic, yes, but largely stripped of Shelley’s tragedy in favor of pulp terror. Kenneth Branagh’s 1994 adaptation (Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein) swung wildly in the opposite direction, going full Shakespearean melodrama, all chest-thumping and sweaty grandeur, an admirable mess if nothing else. And of course, 2014’s I, Frankenstein the real definitive version (The adaptation Shelley must have dreamt of) gave us Aaron Eckhart’s brooding, leather-clad monster-punching angels, a creative decision I’m still trying to process.
In contrast, del Toro finds the perfect middle ground: a faithful reinterpretation that honors Shelley’s text while reinventing it with empathy and heart. His changes to the creature portrayed with aching humanity by Jacob Elordi don’t dilute the horror, but deepen it. By giving the Monster a more articulate voice, emotional intelligence, and moments of quiet reflection, del Toro reclaims him not as a lumbering brute or a misunderstood metaphor, but as a mirror of his creator’s broken soul. It’s a brilliant narrative choice that gives the film its emotional core.
Right from the opening moments as Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) delivers a trembling monologue amidst snow, it’s clear del Toro isn’t playing this for shocks or spectacle, but for soul. The world he builds feels hand-crafted and painterly, every corridor dripping with decay and grandeur, every shadow alive with grief. Working once again with cinematographer Dan Laustsen, del Toro composes every frame like a haunted oil painting, awash in deep reds, candlelit golds, and icy whites. The level of craft on display is astonishing, from the intricate costume work to the grotesquely beautiful creature design, and it’s all in service of an achingly emotional story that feels both faithful to Mary Shelley’s original text and wholly new in its sensitivity.
Jacob Elordi’s performance as the Creature is unrecognisable. Towering yet heartbreakingly gentle, he captures both the physical power and childlike vulnerability of the being, channeling everything from Karloff’s primal sadness to Doug Jones’ ethereal physicality. There’s a sense of yearning in Elordi’s eyes that never fades, a man desperate to be seen as more than a mistake. Oscar Isaac is equally magnetic as Victor, blending arrogance, grief, and guilt into something layered and tragic. Their scenes together are full of confrontation, wanting to belong, and despair, which feel electric, the emotional center around which del Toro’s ornate madness orbits. Mia Goth, as Elizabeth, gives her usual mix of intensity and melancholy, and Christoph Waltz turns what could’ve been a stock supporting role into something playful and fittingly tragic. While David Bradley channels a kind warmth that only helps the emotional toil.
The emotional depth here is staggering. This isn’t just a monster movie; it's a meditation on creation, parenthood, and the moral weight of playing God. Del Toro reframes Shelley’s text as an intimate story of fathers and sons, love and rejection, science and spirituality. Even as the film indulges in horror with scenes of breathtaking violence and grotesque rebirth, it never loses sight of the creature’s pain. You feel his isolation in every shot, his trembling confusion as he’s thrust into a world that can’t love him. And when the story shifts toward its second half, exploring the fallout of creation and the pursuit of redemption, it becomes genuinely transcendent, a gothic elegy for both creator and creation that never loses sight of the empathy towards The Monster.
If there’s one flaw, del Toro sometimes loves this story too much. At two and a half hours, Frankenstein can feel slightly overstuffed in its first act, particularly during Victor’s backstory and the long prelude to the creation sequence. It’s not dull (far from it), but it occasionally drags, front-loading exposition that the rest of the film doesn’t need. Once the creature is born, though, the film locks into something extraordinary, riding waves of emotion, horror, and beauty that rarely let up until the haunting final frame.
Frankenstein is a near masterpiece of emotion, craft, and imagination that reanimates Mary Shelley’s tale for a new generation. Guillermo del Toro delivers a film that’s as heart-wrenching as it is gorgeous, fusing the gothic and the human with unparalleled artistry. While a touch bloated in places, the sheer empathy, scale, and sincerity make this one of his finest achievements and easily one of 2025’s best films. It’s not just a story of creation and destruction; it's del Toro doing what he does best, turning the monsters into heartbreaking victims with sheer sincerity.
Frankenstein will be released in select UK cinemas on October 17, 2025, with a global release on Netflix on November 7, 2025.
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